Full Circle
by Casey Toh
Summary: Decades after Terry McGinnis's death, a girl finds the Batcave and honors the person that was Batman, bringing healing and closure to the legend. Status: chapter 8 up.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Batman and all related characters belong to DC Comics. No intentional copyright infringement is intended through their use.

A/N: It's been way too long since I've written. Uphill climb now.

Feedback: Yes, please. It'd be greatly appreciated.

**Full Circle**

**Prologue:**

His gasps became more labored, more constricted as he reached for the phone, struggling with the receiver a few times before knocking it to the floor.

_Slag—it!_ The words burst from his thoughts in such an explosive force it felt that his mind was gasping, too. _Why didn't I ever replace these phones?_

He grabbed the receiver from the floor, feeling the constriction increase the pain in his chest, and jabbed almost-blindly at the numbers.

9—1—1.

_Focus. Bruce taught you better._

Focus. Right. Like hell.

He coughed and tried to breathe, try to draw in air where it didn't want to go.

_Breathe. Breathe with the dial tones, slag it!_

The dial tones stopped and he almost stopped breathing with that. "H-hello?"

Then they started up again. He stared in momentary disbelief at the receiver, wondering through the haze of pain if there was such a thing as aural-hallucination.

Who else could he call for help? He reached to try again.

_Max.

* * *

_

The phone rang.

And rang.

And rang.

_Hell, can't they let me sleep-in or something in my old age?_

Max growled and answered it. "You are so dead."

"Max?"

"I don't care if you're Matt," she said, recognizing the voice, and then sighed. "What's up, kid?"

There was a short, hesitant silence. "Terry hasn't been home for a few days."

"Kiiiid, you do know that Ter. has moved to the manor like, a few years ago, right?"

"Yeah, but he hasn't been home."

Max rolled her eyes. The message was so obviously not getting through to Matt McGinnis. "And you want me to what?"

"Could you check up on him or something?"

She grinned, then laughed. "Fifty years ago, you two fought like kids over the slightest things. Now, you're worried about him?" She flicked her finger at the picture of Terry, Matt and her together, tweaking an imaginary nose.

"Max…"

"Okay, okay, I'm up. Call you later, Matt."

"Thanks."

* * *

Wayne Manor was as imposing in daylight as it was at night. _Worse at night, actually_, Max corrected herself. 

She didn't bother to try the bell, just unlocked the gate and went straight in. The foyer's door was locked, too, no surprise.

The entrance to the Batcave was easy access for her as well. Terry had needed her help with the computer stuff more and more after Bruce Wayne had passed away.

Max sighed, remembering. Wayne's death hadn't been easy for Terry to get over, especially since her friend had in time taken Wayne to be a father. He had been more violent, and more prone to dark thoughts, and being driven crazy by his incessant plunge downwards, she had forced him to keep a diary.

Her lips quirked up in a smile as she recalled how he had protested and all, but Terry was a good guy, and a friend who knew how to listen to advice and help, and he'd grudgingly agreed to do that, short of being dragged to a shrink. Of course, the deal was that she herself had to keep a diary of her own.

The cave smelt a little less damp as she descended the flight of stone steps, and Max wondered if the various small streams hidden in the darkness of unexplored portions of the cave had started to dry out.

"Terry?" she called.

No answer. Even the bats had long migrated elsewhere.

She didn't bother to shout again, just checked around the cave. There was no Terry, and that fact bothered her. A lot.

She did a second scan to make sure he wasn't hiding in one of the shadowed patches, brooding.

Nope. No Terry.

Worrying, she hurried up the stairs, trying not to groan at her weak joints. She was about to rush down the large corridor when she spotted a tinge of dark brown against the lighter tan of the couch.

"Terry?"

_Not funny. _So_ not funny, Terry. Don't do this to me._

Max shook him, and recoiled at the touch of the cold skin beneath his jacket. "You slag, Terry McGinnis," she whispered fiercely and her body trembled slightly at the tears there, but unshed.

She reached for the phone dangling off its cord, reconnected, and dialed.

9-1-1.


	2. Chapter 1

Feedback: Yes, please. It'd be greatly appreciated.

**Full Circle**

**Chapter one:**

The doorbell rang once, and he ignored it not out of deliberation, but because he was so engaged in cleaning out the mess all around him that he didn't hear it.

_Wow, didn't know the cleaning could be so therapeutic. Should've done it more often, so at least mo—now what the hell is that?_

He got up, scattering loose sheets of paper and dust everywhere, answering the door on its fourth ring.

"John Grayson, what took you so long?" The voice was quiet but demanding.

"Yeah well, you tell me, Alvy." John twisted a little and indicated his living room with a flourish, half-bowing in presentation of the mess.

"Crazy." Alvia stepped carefully into the apartment, poking things out of the way with her toes. "Why the sudden spring cleaning?"

"Mom. Who else?" John grabbed a can of soda from the kitchen, and threw it to Alvia Malone, who caught it easily. He grinned. "Hey, you got it."

She pushed aside some huge photo albums and sat down on the empty spot. "Duh. After all the times you threw things at me, expecting me to grab them, but they knocked me on the head…" She gave a glare, but soon turned her attention to the mess. "C'mon, I'll help, then you can treat me to pizza or something."

"Do that, and you got it."

"Idiot."

* * *

The sorting of papers, books, boxes and various other ancient knick-knacks took more than two hours, and by the end of it, Alvia slumped onto the couch, totally slagged. John was stuffing the final bits of papers and books whenever he could find space.

She shuffled around and finally laid down upon the couch. And it was then that she saw the five volumes of photo albums still hiding at its feet.

"Oh man, we missed the albums."

John cursed without turning, and Alvia grabbed the topmost one and held it out to his back. "Hurry up and take it. It's heavy."

He finished with the papers and turned, then crossed the living room with a horrified exclamation, almost tearing the album from her grasp. "Alvia, you slag! You were holding it by its cover! If dad finds out you treated his album like this, I'll get it!"

"Sorry. But what's up with them anyways? We've digitized everything to vid., but you're still keeping these junk?"

"Dad's heritage. He's always one for old times." John indicated the stack of albums. "Goes way back to Gotham in the nineties, I think. My…great-great-great-great-great-granddad's time."

"Great. How many greats were there?"

"Dunno. Five?"

"Show me."

John dug out the album at the bottom of the stack, holding it with a carefulness that spoke of his appreciation for his own past as well.

"Well…here's the guy, my five-times-great-granddad." He pointed to a picture. "Here's him when he was a kid." Another picture. "And this is the place he lived in for a long time, with this guy called Bruce Wayne, and—"

Alvia slapped his hands away. "You're going too fast. I'll look at this one on my own, thanks."

The album was placed gently on her lap, and knowing how much it was treasured, she took more care with it, even making sure the pages didn't catch.

'Five-times-great-granddad' was named Richard 'Dick' John Grayson. _What a long mouthful_. But he was a pretty cute guy, especially in his youth. Alvia glanced up at John, noting that much of the similarities had faded away from his ancestor, and only the dark hair remained: the sole link in his generation to his past.

The following few pages were all of when Dick Grayson was a kid, dressed in tight red-and-green costumes, grinning broadly, waving to the camera.

Confused, Alvia flipped back to the previous page, and then back and forth a few times. It was as if this photo album had started sometime when Dick was a young adult, and his childhood pictures had been thrown in as an afterthought, or as pictures having been forgotten, found, and then added in: there was no logical chronological sequence there.

Following those, old newspaper clippings had been stuck behind the clear protective films, preventing them from yellowing.

'SOLE SURVIVOR IN FAMILY OF THREE' read one headline. 'BRUCE WAYNE TAKES IN CHILD;' 'FLYING GRAYSONS KILLED IN ACCIDENT;' 'END OF A TRAPEZE FAMILY ACT?'

"Dick's parents were killed." John glanced over, but didn't try to read the papers with Alvia: he'd read them so many times they were in his memory. "Seems I've got Romanian blood in me. They were pretty famous, it seems."

Alvia pointed at a headline. "Who's Bruce Wayne?"

"Uh…then CEO of Wayne Enterprises? You know that company that was like…Wayne-Powers fifty years ago or something?"

"Yeah, I guess. But there's no Wayne-Powers now."

John rolled his eyes. "Still not watching the news, I see. Alvy, Terry McGinnis took back control for Bruce Wayne after Wayne's death. No more Powers. Back to Wayne Enterprises now."

"And Dick lived with Wayne?"

"Yeah. Adopted into the family or something. Big manor, rich guy…" He flipped the pages carefully till he reached one of Wayne Manor. "Here."

"Whooo…nice place."

"I guess. Never been there."

Alvia picked up the can of soda and shook it at him. "Never been there? You crazy?"

"Don't drip on the stuff. And no, we've been living in Blüdhaven for so long I don't even _feel_ like I know Gotham at all."

"Family-history crazy and you never went up to the Manor," she snorted, closing the album. "No pizza today. Let's go to the Manor. You can drive."

John rolled his eyes and kept the albums properly. "Yay."

* * *

It took them a lot longer than the usual thirty minutes to get from Blüdhaven to Gotham, thanks to a traffic jam.

Sure, there were hover-cars and hover-bikes now, but the damned government had to regulate how high they could speed above the ground.

"What's the use of these hovering vehicles, then?" Alvia complained.

"You tell me." John poked her in the arm. "Check the map. I've got absolutely no idea where the darn manor is."

The GPS system fitted in all vehicles was good, but information was only as good as the frequency with which it was updated, its accuracy, and its neglect. Which, according to Alvia, was _severely_ neglected.

"They don't have it, John."

Continuous sighs filled the inside of the car, and Alvia joked that the vehicle would just explode if more sighs came. John exhaled once more, childishly wondering if the car would really explode, and then shaking himself back to reality.

"To the library, I guess."

"And _you_ handle the librarian this time."


	3. Chapter 2

A/N: Apologies for the long time it took for this update. Work has been…most annoying.

Comments: Yes, please. They'd be most appreciated.

Bone White Butterfly: In reply to your question, John and Alvia are childhood friends, hence the familiarity.

**Full Circle:  
****Chapter Two**

By the time they reached the gates of Wayne Manor, it was almost evening.

The gates were locked and didn't swing wildly and creak. The building itself which stood aloof and distant at the top of the hill looked ancient, not spooky. That disappointed Alvia, who was expecting something creepier. After all, it was an _old_ place, she said.

"Should we go in?" John's voice was quiet with more than awe.

"What do you think?" Alvia rolled her eyes and smacked his back. "We came all the way here, got stuck in traffic, dealt with a dreg librarian…" She moved towards the gate, checking out its rusted bars that seemed only to enhance the grandeur of its design.

John stopped beside her. "Fine." He grabbed a bar lightly and tested the gate with a few tugs. It didn't move. "Mm…" He tugged harder, and finally pulled it forcefully, breaking the already-weakened lock.

"Lucky you didn't pull the whole gate out," Alvia muttered.

He didn't answer, just started up the winding hill. On foot.

"You're not going to drive up there?"

"What for? We came here to see the Manor, right? Then let's explore every bit we can. Stop complaining, Alvia," John called back, stopping to examine a patch of wild grass.

"Fine."

The way up held nothing spectacular, not even for John, and they hurried along, mindful of the impending gloom of evening.

The Manor was, somehow, less old than they had expected it to look, when they finally reached it. The walls were weather-beaten, but not crumbling. Weeds grew abundantly about, forming a sort of crown so that it was as if the Manor grew out of the land itself.

"Wonder if there's still light."

"No one's paid the bills for years, girl."

"Place like this ought to have a backup generator. I mean, even the poorest of us have that now…kinda."

John shrugged, and tested the door. It was unlocked, and this time, the hinges gave a long squeal from long disuse.

It was evident as soon as they entered that the abandonment of Wayne Manor hadn't been planned: none of the stuff in the hallway had been covered or wrapped up. And as they went slightly deeper and reached the living hall, their guess was confirmed: nothing had been moved at all. Even the glasses and plates that seemed unused hadn't been put away. Broken pieces of china littered a table, and there was a slightly darker stain there that hinted of neglect.

"Wow. Seems like people wanted this place forgotten in a hurry."

"Um hm."

"I think we better hurry up. Sun's setting and we didn't bring any light." Alvia moved forward, past the living hall, turning into another room of sorts. "Meet back here in an hour or something!"

"Yeah, okay."

John took the stairs to the second level.

* * *

The hallway leading outside was filled with a soft golden glow, infused with dust particles floating about. The lengthened shadows and diffused edges seemed a testament of the Manor's state before its occupants left it to decay. 

"Let's go before the light's all gone." John was subdued, almost depressed.

Alvia tilted her head at him, her dark eyes scrutinizing. "You're not very happy about this part of your history being so neglected, are you?"

"No."

She didn't push further, just took his hand and led the way out.

"Hey, wait. Wait." John tugged his friend to a stop, and pointed to the grandfather clock that stood alone at one stretch of the wall.

Sunlight slit through the space in-between its back and the wall, broken only by four hinges that kept it secured. The clock seemed to tilt forward, as if it wasn't quite placed firmly on the ground.

Without waiting for an agreement, Alvia tugged at the it. The hinges didn't hold, and the whole clock fell forward, startling John into leaping for his friend and pushing them both out of danger.

He shot her a look, then turned his attention to the reinforced-steel door that had been hidden behind the clock. "Think it's locked?"

Alvia shrugged. "Um, try it?"

John pushed against the door, its cool surface matted with many scratches and scars, criss-crossing randomly. It refused to move.

"Heavy stuff." She joined him and they both placed their weight and strength against the door, pushing inwards until both of them were panting with the exertion. "Um, do you think it opens outwards instead?"

"I think so. Slag, we're such idiots."

They searched around for some handle or latch, and found a small one near the top of the door. Alvia pulled it and the door swung outwards easily. "Outwards, heh."

"No light."

"Find a switch or something."

They felt about, patting their palms against the walls hidden in darkness. The surface was uneven and cool, but dry.

John found the switch two steps down and flicked it. The lights flickered on and threw the darkness into shadows, and the sudden harshness of light and dark accentuated the vastness of the cave they found themselves staring at.

"Like, whoa."

"Uh, there's a computer down here?"

"Who were they?" Alvia cast John a look, like he should know. "It's like a whole operating unit here or something."

John descended the steps quickly, almost tripping a few times. He went to the computer first, it being the largest object in the cave, lined up against a cave wall and standing at about ten feet high. He tried a few keys but didn't expect it to work. It didn't.

He jumped when another flood of lights turned themselves on along with the whirring of a…generator?

"Um, sorry. I turned it on." Alvia laughed and shrugged. Then she pointed to his right. "Oh wow…big coin."

"You sound retarded." He laughed as well before turning. "Yeah, huge."

They spent a few minutes just gazing at the coin, before Alvia poked John and said to try the computer. However, the crumbling and frayed power cable dashed their hopes.

Before they could search around for any spares, gentle fluttering above them freaked John out, and he pulled Alvia up towards the stone flight of stairs, up them, and into the main corridor again.

"Damn, I don't like bats."

"So what do we do about this…cave? I really want to know what's in that computer." Alvia led the way out of the Manor, thinking. "You know…we could ask Shea for help…"

John was hesitant. "Yeeaaahhh…I guess…let's go now. I'll call her when I reach home."

"Yeah, okay." She cast one more look back as they walked out, noting the long shadows that seem to speak of the Manor's fall into darkness.

* * *

"_What do you think, Max?"_

"_Think what, Matt?" Max sighed and shook her head. "Sorry. Just…still kinda shell-shocked, you know?"_

_Matt McGinnis played with the almost-empty teacup, clattering it on the table. Without warning, he lifted the cup and smashed it down, spilling the liquid all over, splattering himself with it._

"_Hey, chill, kid." Max shifted positions and ruffled the younger man's hair half-heartedly: it wasn't as if she was going whoopy-do, either._

"_Like, Terry, just…gone?"_

_Max couldn't say anything. What was there to say anyway? That Terry would be happier up there? And if there ever was an 'up there,' someone better made sure Terry got in, or she would so kick their asses._

"_C'mon, kid, let's just go. I think coming back here isn't going to be nice." She tugged his arm till he rose._

"_I hate this place. Never knew why Ter loved staying here so much."_

_Max sighed and muttered, "Maybe 'cause it was his home."_


	4. Chapter 3

Comments: Yes, please.

**Full Circle  
****Chapter 3**

Shea O'Briley was not happy. How could she be, when her father—_surrogate_ father, mind you—kept nagging at her to stop sitting before the computer and come for dinner?

"I'm doing my work, dad!" she yelled back at him through the door, knowing he could hear her.

"Dinner's getting cold!"

She was about the shout 'fuck dinner!' when she stopped herself in time: cursing will cause them to nag a lot more. She remembered the torture of enduring over an hour of lecturing by Mike and Sarah O'Briley, just because of saying 'fuck.' While she wanted to rebel, the constant nagging wasn't worth it.

"Shea!"

"What? If it's dinner, I'm coming alr—"

"Your call!"

"Oh." That came out softly, then she raised her voice again. "Coming!" She placed the 'Busy' status on her IM programs, and went out to the living room for the common vid-phone: the other one in her room had been used for another of her experiments. "Yeah, Shea here."

"Um, hi. This is John…Grayson?" The caller made his name into a question.

Shea tried to place a face to the name. Ah, yes. That ruggedly-cute guy that her good friend Michelle had a crush on. Pretty good kid. She gave a short laugh at her calling him a kid, when they were of the same age. "Yeah, I know you. S'up?"

"I heard tha—"

"Oh, and how did you get my number?"

"Alvia got it for me." He sounded uncomfortable with that fact. "Alvia Malone."

"Ah, yeah. Okay. So s'up?"

There were slight shuffling sounds, as if John was moving about. She heard some muffled argument between him and another before he spoke again. "Um, I heard you're pretty good with computers. We need some help with one."

Shea rolled her eyes. _Figured they'd call for these stuff_. "What type?"

"We're not sure. A really big one."

"We?"

"Alvia and I," John said. "And um, it's in Gotham. We kind of saw it today but couldn't get it to work."

Losing interest rapidly, Shea was about to decline, and was deciding whether to do it cordially or snappishly when she stopped. Gotham: where she originally lived, before her parents died. She hadn't been back for over four years.

"Where exactly in Gotham is it?" she asked quietly.

There was a short pause, then, "Wayne Manor."

Wayne Manor. A small smile grew on Shea's face: her parents had brought her to the Manor's gates once, and she had marveled at the building's beauty.

"You up for it?"

She jerked back to the conversation. Should she go? "Yeah. I'm up. When?"

"Tomorrow. We'll meet you at the school gates at two?"

"Classes," she answered. "Make it four."

John had another argument with whoever was with him (Shea guessed it was Alvia). Then he agreed. And once she had assented, he hung up quickly.

She didn't take offense at that. Instead, she felt a smile on her face as she went for dinner.

* * *

"Hey, Shea. Thanks for coming." Alvia handed her a can of soda before poking John. "We going?" 

John made a jokingly-gallant bow towards his car. "Ladies first." Alvia aimed a kick as his leg and he shifted quickly before it landed, laughing. "Stop it, Alvy."

The ride to Gotham was filled with eating snacks and loud jokes that almost-literally rocked the car. Shea found that John wasn't as shy as she thought he was: in fact, he was quite loud in a strangely endearing way. Especially with Alvia.

It was over five when they reached Wayne Manor, and this time, John went to open the gates before driving all the way to the building itself. He unloaded three sets of flashlights, and three pairs of night-vision goggles.

"Where did you get those?" Alvia demanded in surprise.

"The goggles? They were going for a low price so I just got them. Everyone in the house has a pair."

"You're crazy! You never told me!"

"Only remembered them last night, Alvy. Stop bein—"

Shea hushed them, taken in by the broken splendor of the Manor: she had never been in Wayne Manor's grounds before. Besides, she never had reason to: she didn't know any of the Waynes, not that there were any descendents, she seemed to recall.

"Light's going, so we better hurry, again," John said. "Though we have these stuff I mean."

"I'll show you the cave, Shea. C'mon." Alvia took a flashlight from John and led the way in, being careful to point out the fallen and shattered grandfather clock, as well as the fact that the door swung outwards. She stopped at the entrance to the cave, at the start of the descending steps. "I'll go explore the whole area more. Light switch's just to the left, at the bottom. You can't miss the computer."

Shea took the flashlight and started to make her way down as John passed her with a, "Have fun!" and a brilliant smile. Then she understood why Michelle had a crush on him. She shook her head and chuckled, then made her way down carefully, making sure she turned the lights on.

The computer definitely couldn't be missed. So did the other objects in the cave. There was a huge penny held up by a stand: it was the most prominent thing other than the computer. The shadows held hints of other objects, she was sure.

_Computer first_, she told herself firmly, wondering just what this place was.

* * *

_Max set the hands of the clock to 10:47, moving to the left just before the clock swung open. The gaping maw of the cave almost overwhelmed her, especially since she knew there wouldn't be anyone friendly waiting in its darkness now._

"_Why 10.47? _(1)_" she had asked Terry once, many years ago, when he first showed her how to get into the cave._

_He had given her a look that, for once, she couldn't understand. "'cause that's the time his parents were killed."_

_She sighed and forced herself to move down the stairs, ignoring the dull ache in her thighs as each jolt traveled through her old body. She had to do this, finish it, before she could get any closure._

_The computer was still turned on: it was never turned off, it seemed. The screen—on standby mode—was divided into sections, each monitoring a different pre-programmed function. _

No more,_ she told herself, reaching out to disconnect the functions, locking certain files up and deleting others._

_She paused, undecided on the directory for her own diary, and for Terry's own. Should she delete those? pretend that nothing in them ever happened?_

_After long moments, she shook her head: no. Deleting them wouldn't bring Terry back. She needed the reminder of the effort he'd given to the city, even if she would never come close to these digital mementos. _

_She had never read Terry's diary: she'd promised him she wouldn't. So, she skipped that directory and went on to spring-clean the others. _

_That didn't take long, and Max was grateful for that. _

_She shut down the Batcomputer: the first time in almost a century or so. The black screen seemed strangely out-of-place in the cave, and she stared at her hazy reflection for a moment before stepping away to the glass cases that held honorary suits._

_The red bat on black suit felt like a harsh reminder of the curses that had started these crusades, one blending into another until who knows how many have been dragged in, and Max gave one anguished scream, hearing remnants bats screech in fear. _

Good. You've scared others for so long, it's your turn to be scared.

_Too bad all your death won't bring Terry back.

* * *

_

**Note:**

(1) Information taken from Dennis O'Neil's novel: Knightfall (Knightquest, Knightsend).


	5. Chapter 4

Comments: Yes, please.

**Full Circle  
****Chapter 4:**

The cave echoed dully and mutedly with fervent typing and clicking. The low drone of a faraway generator added to the mix of noise. And still, it would be considered quiet.

Shea blinked tiredly.

She had noticed the computer's power cable frayed and unusable the first time she'd seen the computer, and when John had checked up on her, asked if they could go shop for one.

He drove them around Gotham, Alvia and her hooking up visor-scans to the car's wireless network connection that was itself drawn from Ithel Communication Towers.

In the end, she had to search on the internet for any old models of the power cable. She didn't even know the name for it: the thing was that old. John and Alvia helped with scrolling through numerous sites to dig up pictures and archives of the types of computers used in the nineteen hundreds.

They'd finally found out that the type of computer found in the cave came closest to a CRAY.

The cable cost them three hundred and fifty credits. Excluding the express freight from England to Gotham.

"This better be worth it," Shea muttered, referring to the credits spent, and to the time she was cutting down on sleep. Thank whoever-was-somewhere vacations were in a few days. At least she could make up for the time they had wasted waiting for the power cable to arrive, and for her to focus on her homework.

The machinery within the CRAY protested as they hummed to life, complaining from the long disuse. The booting up took a lot longer than Shea was accustomed to waiting, and she got up from the console chair to explore the cave further, casting frequent glances back to the screen.

She searched around for more light switches but found none. _Either that or they're in the shadows. How convenient._

A soft beep made her turn, and she saw that the CRAY had finished its booting up, and hurried over, raising her brows in disgusted annoyance when she saw THE OPENLY SECRET FILES OF MAX.

_If I spent one hundred creds on this…I'll burn it up._

Sighing, she reached for the console and re-settled herself into the chair. Call her a delusional idiot, but she refused to believe she spent creds on that. So, she was going to squeeze this thing dry, extract every single bit of information she could out of it.

Unless it could spit creds back out, which she really doubted so. So…

"I'll just call in sick tomorrow for school or something," she announced to the CRAY in a promise to keep at it until it yielded.

* * *

_Max saw the Batmobile leave, and turned back to the computer with an evil grin. This was gonna be fun._

_She accessed the DOS of the computer, and added in a few mazes just in case anyone who shouldn't be trying tried to access it. She took her time, knowing Terry would be gone for a large part of the night._

_As a final cheeky finale, she added the boot-up defense of what seemed like a rubbish message: THE OPENLY SECRET FILES OF MAX._

_If Terry ever shut down and booted the computer up again, he'd be _so_ surprised.

* * *

_

Two hours later, Shea had only passed one of the defending walls that had been set up on the CRAY. Whoever had set those up was really good, much better than she was. But hey, she could always argue that the codes were so old she had never needed to learn them before.

She debated whether to head to the Old Gotham Library to dig out information on navigating that damned maze set up in the CRAY (and God, they were _hard copy_ information, which really sucked), but decided to keep at it for another hour more. Besides, she remembered that this late, the library would be closed already.

After entering a few automated maze-crackers (as she liked to think of them), Shea reached into her bag for some snacks, and thought she would explore the cave more this time, instead of just focusing on breaking into the CRAY.

The pair of night-vision goggles that John had passed her was helpful, and so was the high-powered flashlight she brought out, though the fact that she kept seeing the green images annoyed her to no end. The first thing she searched for was for more light switches. She didn't think the stuff in the cave would be voice-activated, since she felt the place terribly outdated.

"Switches…switches…" her self-murmurs seemed to echo, emphasizing the empty desolation which she stood in at that point. And then, as if the cave finally pitied her lonely state, it conspired with fate to make her move her hand over one particular area of the cave wall, and felt an out-of-place bump there. "Yes, switch!"

Somewhere in some distant portion of the cave, another generator hummed to life. _How many generators does this place have?_ Shea wondered as the lights flickered on, gaining in intensity until it hurt her eyes. Then she remembered the goggles and almost-ripped them off. And only then did she see—after a few minutes of letting the temporary blindness pass—that the cave looked even more dismal in light so dim.

She scanned the areas where the few lights had exposed, and glints to her right caught her attention. _And, when something catches my eyes, what to do but to check it out, right?_ She laughed at her internal monologue and approached the glints, which were cylindrical glass cases containing…some costumes, she thought.

"Don't look like normal costumes," Shea commented to herself as she walked around one of the cases to stand at the front of it. What she saw was a grey bodysuit with a large black bat emblazoned on its chest. A black cowl that had been modeled after bats' ears rested upon the suit. Scalloped gloves, heavy black boots and a stylish belt completed the whole image.

Mouth slightly agape, she glanced at the other costumes, some as strikingly vibrant in color as others were dark and dull.

"God, what is this?"

* * *

"_Might I ask what these cases are for, Master Bruce?" Alfred stood to one side, his face admiringly deadpanned. "After all, I should not think that you would consider it wise placing more strange objects on display here." He looked pointedly at the mementoes of Batman's villains placed in one section of the cave._

"_I need to remember, Alfred." Bruce strode out from the suit-and-weaponry vault, one costume draped over each arm. "I need to remember all whom I've lost, and those who caused the loss." The last came out as a low growl, full of anger, hiding the pain he felt._

_With calloused carelessness, he started to place his own suit in the first display case: it was a symbol and epitome of the endless crusade that he had started, and others had taken on. They were responsible for their own choices; he was responsible for their lives._

_The second suit he treated with a care that few would know he was capable of. The vibrant colors seemed a stark reminder of his own darkness, and the death he had caused. Gritting his teeth, he arranged that suit in the second glass case, and then stepped back._

"_Master Bruce—"_

_Bruce glared at his longtime friend with an anger Alfred recognized was turned inwards. The gentleman's gentleman understood that, and merely nodded and turned, exiting the cave, leaving the younger man gazing at the display cases, lost in memories of sorrow.

* * *

_

The vid-phone gave a soft chime and John glanced at it for a second and waited for another chime to make sure it wasn't any accidental calls. Then he answered it.

"IfoundsomethingnewandIdon'tknow—"

"Shea? Slow down, slow down!"

John heard her stop completely for a few seconds. "Don't think you can come to Wayne Manor now, can you?" she asked in now-understandable speed.

"There's school tomorrow, Shea…don't tell me you're still there…"

"Yeah, I am. Nevermind. Meet me at the cave after your classes…what time?"

"One."

"Okay, just meet me there."

John stared at the vid-phone in annoyance, then flopped back to bed and went to sleep.

* * *

"_Shouldn't you be going out already, Terry?" Max asked without turning around, continuing her maintenance of the Batcomputer's database._

"_In a few."_

_Now that was strange, even to Max. She stopped her work, swiveled around in the console chair, and found Terry already in the suit, save for the cowl. He was staring at the glass cases that contained all the suits the Bat-team wore in the past._

"_S'up, Ter.?"_

_He seemed to shake himself and drew his gaze away from the displays. "Nothing, Max. See you later." He pulled the cowl on and vaulted into the Batmobile's seat._

"_Yeah, laters." She watched the Batmobile's exit, as she had done for countless times before._


	6. Chapter 5

**Note:** A big "Thank you!" to all the reviewers who've kept me this far. Your comments are greatly appreciated.

**Reluctant Dragon:** I'll estimate it to be around 2160 at the time this story takes place. (I hope I did my math right, though)

**A/N:** I'm following the animated series' continuity here, so Barbara Gordon never got shot and paralyzed by the Joker. Also, very slight references to Batman: Mystery of the Batwoman.

**Full Circle  
****Chapter Five:**

If there had ever been a point to returning yet and yet again to the same place when all explorations of it had been done, John hadn't found any yet. Thankfully, Wayne Manor was so huge that he hadn't completed his explorations, and so didn't find it bothersome returning.

Shea was already there in the cave when he reached. He'd wanted to get Alvia along, but her classes ended later, and judging by the enthusiastic tone with which Shea had spoken, he'd gotten intrigued and decided to come first.

She heard his footsteps echo through the huge cavern and turned, blinking her eyes tiredly and squinting a little.

"Hey, what's it?"

"There." She pointed towards her right, and John noticed that more lights had been turned on. "See those glass cases? Those." She didn't offer to show him what had interested her so much, and with a hint of annoyance, he strode towards the cases she pointed to.

He had approached them from the front, and almost stopped when he was halfway there, having seen what those cases contained. "Whoa. What are those?"

"Costumes. What did you think they were?"

"I know they're costumes. But what—forget it." John searched for a latch and opened the case, reaching out to trail his fingers over the first costume, the one emblazoned with a black bat. "Hm, funny material."

"Yeah. Funnier computer, though," Shea commented, half in thought. "And funny information."

"What?"

She gestured him over, and he saw what seemed to be a criminal profile spread out across the screen. The sole picture there showed a guy with a deathly pale face—white, he would say—shockingly green hair, a too-wide red grin, dressed in a purple suit. All the colors contrasted so greatly in so small an area that John felt his eyes go blind.

"Who's that?"

"According to what's here…" Shea's voice trailed off as she scanned the information. "He's more commonly known as 'The Joker.' Mm, once known as Jack Napier."

"What happened to him?" He shuddered at the wild eyes that stared back at him, full of insane malice even though it was a mere picture. _The eyes are the windows to the soul_, he remembered reading from somewhere. And if so, this picture must have captured what soul the Joker had left and retained it for itself: John felt cold just looking at it.

The girl stood up and offered the console seat. "Here, you go read it yourself. I'll grab something to eat. I'm starving. Did you bring anything to eat?"

John tore his eyes away from the screen, forcing his still somewhat-shuddering mind to focus on something…normal. "Um, no. Why?"

"Just getting sick of chips."

"I can drive you to town to get something," he offered.

"Nah, I want to work on the thing some more." She stuffed chips into her mouth, thankfully remembering not to talk with her mouth full. "Only got through two of the defenses since this morning. Someone good placed them there." More chips fell to the cave floor. "I'll go look at the costumes again. Wonder how they feel like."

John raised his brows. "You haven't touched them?"

"Nah. Didn't dare to, actually," she admitted, ignoring his disbelieving look and walking over to the cases again. The awe she felt since she last gazed at the costumes returned: they might look strange, but they certainly were _impressive_. She had to wonder once again who would wear such clothing, and for what purpose.

She heard John settling himself in to do more reading, and she decided to give her eyes a break from the screen. She finally dared to open the latch of the first case, trailing her fingers over the material as John had done. It felt…strong.

She let her fingers wander downwards, till they came to the belt, a soft gold in the dim light. It was a sleek thing with many compartments, its curves soft and graceful, yet almost-dangerous looking. She wondered what the compartments held: they looked interesting.

_Would be easier to take the belt off first_, she decided, and reached for where she thought the clasp would be, poking around a little but not finding anything she could release the belt with. She used both hands (one of them a slight bit oily from the chips) to grasp either sides of the emblem in the middle of the belt, gripping the pack of chips with her teeth.

The minute she tried to pry the belt open, she felt something rush so fast through her her body went stiff, and her last thought just froze right in her mind.

* * *

John heard a soft strangled cry, and he whirled around so sharply he almost threw himself off the chair. "Shea?" He saw her on the ground, her body twitching slightly, her lips parted. 

He cursed and went to her quickly, grasping her arm before he knew what he was doing: his actions seemed two steps faster than his mind. _Was she breathing?_ He watched her chest. It rose and fell very slightly, almost imperceptible.

_Shit. Hospital. Hospital!_ He took out his cell phone, but could get no reception this deep beneath the ground.

In a frantic move, he lifted Shea and staggered-ran up the stairs, out of the Manor and towards his car. He had to get her to Gotham General Hospital soon: he didn't know how to handle this situation.

* * *

"_Are you sure it's a good idea doing this, Bruce?" Barbara Gordon watched him take Nightwing's suit and walk towards the last empty case there was. "Putting the Robin suit there gives enough memories, doesn't it?"_

_He gave a look totally devoid of emotion, one which all of them had learnt to take as a command to be silent. _

_Her own Batgirl suit had already occupied the third case for a few months already. The fourth had been empty until this evening. Bruce—no, Batman—had sent Batgirl to Nightwing to ask for a suit. _

_Dick's reaction to that had been expected. He had told Batgirl to "forget it. Tell him to come himself if he wants." _

_It'd taken weeks before Batman did that. All of them thought that he'd put it out of his mind, but then, they knew better. He went to Dick's apartment, and apparently, they had a long chat (neither of them would reveal its contents) and Dick gave one suit to his mentor._

_If she hadn't known them for such a long time, and been allowed into the Bat's trust, she would've labeled their family 'dysfunctional.' Even so, she wondered if they were still dysfunctional: facts were after all, facts. Right?_

"_So, we have Dick's suit," she said. "What now?"_

_A steely glare came from him this time, as if it should be obvious. "Get to work."_

_Barbara had to wonder if he even thought of her as a lover, even though they were technically…together. But she didn't argue, and just nodded. "Yessir."_


	7. Chapter 7

**Comments:** Greatly appreciated. Thank you.

**Powerstar:** I think that the Justice League has disbanded and Wonder Woman has returned to Themiscyra. Not sure if Superman can live that long, though, so I guess he might be out of the picture too. At least, that's the feel I get from this piece.

**Full Circle  
****Chapter Six:**

John had broken almost every single traffic rule there were just to rush Shea to Gotham General Hospital. What was worse was that he didn't quite know his way, and had gotten lost a few times despite screaming for directions towards passersby, who gave him the same wary looks and even warier answers.

The rush hour traffic didn't help the state of his mind, and when he finally saw the big, fat letters that announced with grand panache GOTHAM GENERAL HOSPITAL, he nearly got into an accident himself from so much trembling.

After much tussle with some orderlies who thought his panic was a state of insanity, he finally got the idea through that there was someone in his car who needed help, so go help her!

They did, and John was left alone awkwardly after having given her particulars to a nurse, without anything to do or anywhere to go but wait in the hospital. He hoped that nothing worse would happen: he didn't want Shea dead, nor did he want to explain to her parents what happened.

He glanced at his watch and saw that only half an hour had passed. Damned! He needed something to do! Not just sit here and be useless!

His vid-cell chimed, startling him from his self-imposed vigilance outside the ward. The display seemed foreign to him, but he forced himself to focus, to speak. "Alvy?"

She saw his frightened expression. "What happened?"

"Shea, she got…electrocuted or stuff." He lowered his voice without knowing why. "Happened in that cave. When she touched the costume or something."

"Costume?"

That made John realize that Alvia still hadn't seen those costumes. He debated his options. "Look, you want to come join me at Gotham General Hospital? I need to stay here until I'm sure she's okay."

"I'll need to take a cab there. Maybe around an hour or so."

"Okay. I'll wait."

Alvia reached the hospital at around 5:10pm, and then called John again, and he directed her as best as he could, waiting for her at one of the junctions, keeping out of the way of the orderlies and nurses.

"She okay?"

"Dunno. They're still looking or something." John's voice was hoarse, and he swallowed painfully before turning and pointing. "She's over in that one. Hope she's—"

"Shea!"

"Don't call me Shea, you dreg! And let me go!"

John and Alvia glanced at each other, then hurried to the door, not noticing a couple who followed just as hurriedly behind them. They were undecided on whether to enter into the room or not, and were startled when they heard panicked "Excuse me's" and a man and woman pushed past them into the room.

"Shea!" "Mom…dad…"

"Are you okay?"

John and Alvia backed away and took seats nearby, not wanting to intrude upon the family. They heard Shea protesting loudly against staying for more observations, and then her folks' demanding what had happened.

"Shh…keep your voice down mom!"

"I think we better go first," Alvia whispered, glancing at the closed door that hid the going-ons in the room. "She doesn't seem to get on with her parents that well, does she?"

"They're her foster folks." John surveyed the closed door. "Yeah, think we better go. I'll call her later or something."

"You can show me the suits or something. Let's go."

With one more glance back at the door, John followed Alvia out, feeling as if he'd betrayed a trust.

* * *

_Alfred strode up to the dark figure that had just exited the weapons vault, his wrinkled face hard and disapproving for once in a very long time. "Shouldn't you be at Master Dick's side, _sir_? After all, the young master is hurt."_

_Batman grunted, pulling on his gauntlets. "Leslie's with him," he replied darkly, not sparing even a glance at his old friend. "He's in good hands."_

"_Definitely much better hands than yours, sir." Alfred knew fully well the barb in those words, but for once, couldn't control them. He knew the hurt Bruce was going through, now, when he could do nothing to have prevented the Joker from shooting Robin. _

_Batman's sharp glance at him was pained, but unrelenting. _

"_I thought I brought you up better than this, Master Bruce. You do not leave your family's side when they need you the most."_

_That just made the Batman growl and turn away, striding to the Batmobile. "I'm not leaving his side. I'm making him leave mine, for his own safety."_

"_How should that prove you're a good father to a son, then, sir?" Alfred demanded, his tone curt. _

"_Have my father ever proved the same thing?" Batman gritted out and left.

* * *

_

"How in the world did you get near any tasers?" Shea's father demanded. "We specifically said you couldn't buy any!"

Playing something like good cop/bad cop without even realizing it, her mother patted his hand. "Calm down first, Mike. Let her explain."

"But Sarah—"

"Be quiet, hon. Now Shea, what happened?"

Shea shrugged, wincing slightly at the ache in her body still. She had a major headache and being interrogated by good-cop-mom and bad-cop-dad didn't help her mood any. "An accident."

"You don't get into accidents with tasers!"

"I just did."

"Shea—"

"Why don't you dregs just leave me alone to rest?" She glared at them, breathing heavily, trying to keep her temper in check. "My parents wouldn't have done this!"

An awkward silence fell, with the two adults glancing at each other, half-shocked, half-hurt. No one knew what to do, and Shea just stood up and strode to her room, slamming her door close.

* * *

_The cave, which had been quiet a few minutes ago except for the faint hum of the large CRAY and the fluttering of bats' wings, now echoed with the shrill protests of Dick Grayson. "You can't fire me, Bruce! Not just for this!" _

"_You don't make this kind of mistakes, Dick. Robin cannot."_

"_But I'm okay! The wound will heal quickly. I'll work out more and catch up! No more mistakes, Bruce."_

"_Once ends everything. You can't get shot in the head and say you don't want to die."_

"_Bruce—" Dick clenched his teeth, stopped and glared at his mentor, knowing that whatever he said wasn't going to convince Bruce. No one could convince Bruce when he made up his mind, even when he was wrong. That was how unfair he could be, and Dick was sick of it! _

"_Fine! Just hide away here and do whatever you need!" Dick turned to run up the flight of steps to the Manor._

"_Dick."_

_The smallest hint of hope came. Was Bruce going to ask him to stay? Did he manage to convince his mentor?_

"_Leave the gloves."_

_Seconds later, the Batman was left with only a pair of green gloves laying in a crumpled mess near his boots. _


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** My sincerest apologies for having taken this long to update. I lost my inspiration to write for some time. Am now trying to get it back. Do bear with me as I attempt to regain my footing.

**Comments and feedback:** Greatly appreciated. Thank you!

**Full Circle  
Chapter Seven:**

It had been months since the incident with the taser, and Shea hoped that her _surrogate_ parents would have forgotten that and allowed her more freedom outside of home. To all appearances, they seemed to have to.

Hadn't taken her too long to heal up, she decided. Tasers weren't meant to kill. _Or, well, at least that particular one wasn't._ Her aching head had stopped trying to murder her after a day or two, and, in revenge, she'd spent part of her vacation writing up her own codes to counter what she had encountered in the CRAY's maze.

The train station was not that crowded mid-morning. She'd chosen a good time to start on her journey to Wayne Manor, and had made sure that John and Alvia knew full well what she was doing. Those two had begged out of the whole exploration thing after she'd been hospitalized.

_Wusses._

Well, Alvia was a spunky girl, but she stood by John too much. Ah well. They could miss out on a whole load of interesting things for all they know.

Shea smirked as she boarded the northbound train. She'd see this whole adventure through to the end, whatever it was.

* * *

_Arkam Asylum was a dark place, a horrible place, filled with inmates who should have been killed simply for their committed crimes. No one should ever be used to that place. _

_But he had been in and out of there as a frequent visitor, to threaten, to demand information, that he'd been desensitized. At times, he wondered if he didn't belong in there himself._

_Why does he do this, night after night?_

_His parents had long ceased to exist. But whether by the blade, by a gun, or by natural death, everyone will die eventually, courtesy of some random decision of some unknown powers._

_This wouldn't be the education his parents would have given him. _

_He grunted slightly, rising from his crouch to leave his chosen spot for the time he'd used to make sure Arkam was functioning safely._

_He understood a lot of minds, had studied them to such an intense degree he knew their owners better than they themselves did. But he didn't understand himself._

"_Those who conquer others are strong. But those who conquer themselves are powerful."_

_Confucius. _

_If what that longtime-dead man said was right, maybe why he continued being Batman was because his enemies knew and understood him better than he was willing to admit, and they were merely playing him as a game of their own twisted minds._

* * *

The air smelled a little bit more moist than she remembered, and she hoped that the dampness wouldn't destroy important things before she found out what they all were. 

"Hello, CRAY."

Shea settled herself and got to work instantly. She'd come prepared with food and drinks and even a sleeping bag this time.

Connecting her laptop to the CRAY, and running her maze-breaker program, she allowed herself to continue exploring from where her accident had occurred. The belt lay in the same place she'd dropped it, sprawled unceremoniously.

She nudged it carefully with her shoe, but decided to ignore it, and turned her attention to the suits.

The one in the first case was dark grey, almost slate, emblazoned with a black bat insignia on its chest. Shea poked it. _Rubberish_. Way too big for her.

The next three were too loud-colored to hold her interest. Bright red, green, yellow, black. Felt like some pale imitation of the Robin Hood legend.

The evidently-feminine costume caught her attention. Black, with bright yellow gloves and boots, and a yellow bat over its chest. Didn't seem too bad a style to her. Better than the flamboyance of the other three suits.

Risking things again, Shea opened the glass case, carefully not touching anything else. She lifted the suit out warily, holding it out at half-arm's length.

Slight beeping tones reached her from the CRAY, announcing its success.

"Woot."

Programs auto-ran on the CRAY, and one caught her attention. It seemed like a description of all the equipment she'd seen on the suits in the glass cases.

"One time electrical charge," she murmured, reading the blueprints, then crossing the cave to nudge the fallen belt with her shoe again. "You better be right, CRAY."

Her fear lessened as she flicked opened a compartment and reached inside with her fingers, and nothing assaulted her. She pulled out a bat-shaped piece of metal that felt sharp at its edges.

Returning to the CRAY, she searched and found a description for that object.

_Batarang: basic. Used like a shuriken._

"Cool."


	9. Chapter 9

**Full Circle  
Chapter 8**

_Lagecy. So this is what it's all about._

_A circle of people, intertwined by the tragedy which befelled them, united by one man's obsession, divided by his fear._

_Obsession._

Shea O'Briley thought she understood that more than any others. Or, at least, more than any others she'd met. Moreso even than Alvia and John.

_John Grayson_.

She searched through the CRAY's file for "Grayson," and a full profile of a dark-haired young man appeared on the screen. "Not bad," she smirked, admiring his figure, before her eyes were drawn to the emblazoned insignia of a large blue bird in flight. "Nightwing. Hm..."

_If John were this..._Her eyes flicked to the screen..._Dick Grayson's descendent, would he know anything about his history?_

Absently, Shea left her seat and drew the Batarang she'd taken from the belt only hours before, flicking it open and snapping it into place, pausing to pick a target.

"Crime."

_Would John want to know more about Dick? Would John _know_ about Dick already?_

Shea took aim at the face of a puppet, and threw the Batarang. It flew erratically and veered wildly off course., vanishing into the darkness of the shadows of the cave.

_Damn.  
_

* * *

"Dick Grayson? I know who he is. He's my...nine...ten times great-granddad. Can never keep the numbers straight," John grumbled. 

He, Alvia and Shea sat in his room, after Shea had called him and arranged to meet.

"Yeah, okay. But...anything else?"

"What 'anything else'?"

Alvia rolled her eyes at Shea's exasperated sigh.

"What do you really know about Dick?"

"Circus kid, parents kille, adopted by Bruce Wayne, and then left for Bludhaven years later to join the PD. Married Barbara Gordon, divorced, then remarried Kyla Burton. That's kind of all."

Alvia watched Shea carefully, noting her hesitation and reluctance to speak. "Is there anything we should know?"

There was a long pause, as Shea took her time clasping and unclasping her hands, almost deliberately drawing the silence out. "Ever heard of the Batman?"

* * *

"_The Batman's just a fuckin' legend those bloody cops came up with ta scare bloody wusses like ya!"_

"_I dunno, man. Word on the streets that he took out Thorne. And it ain't just him, yanno? Others like him, four, five of them. Everywhere at once man."_

"_Put Ricky in the slams, y'know."_

"_Thorne's a bloody idiot. So is Ricky. Will ya just shut up and knock this joint off?"_

"_Okay, okay!"_

_CLLAAAAANGGG._

"_What's that, man?"_

"_I don't like this."_

"_Shaddup and do it quieter, ya hear?"_

"_But I didn't make that noise!"_

_CLLLAAAAAAANNNNNNGGGGG._

"_I didn't make that goddamned noise!"_

"_Now, look here. A bunch of wannabe circus kids prying into a joint. What's the odds of that at this time of the night?"_

"_It's the godamned Batman, ya hear? Run!"_

"_I'm not Batman. But I'm close enough."_


End file.
